


miss the days of a life still permanent

by gaiasash



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-26 20:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17752736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaiasash/pseuds/gaiasash
Summary: For a long time, he was alone.Then, on a Wednesday morning, at 8:37 AM, Archie died.





	miss the days of a life still permanent

Jughead kissed Archie outside of Athens and for the the first time in weeks he thought everything might turn out okay.  
  
It didn’t. Hiram found them again and they had to keep moving. They were both at a point where “tired” didn’t matter, didn’t even register until, finally, Toledo.  
  
Gladys took one look at them and knew, and she smiled like Jughead did, with the left half of her mouth, and pulled the baseball cap off Archie’s head to ruffle his hair. And Jellybean punched her brother in the arm with more force than a kid her size had any right to. Then she hugged him, hugged them both, and Archie hugged her back, and even as he did, he thought, _it won’t last_.  
  
He tried to sneak away that night, but the Joneses are not a family you disappear on. It could have been any one of them who caught him, but it was Jellybean, with her hands on her hips, and she didn’t even have to say anything, just quirk an eyebrow.  
  
“It’s for the best,” Archie said. “It’s to keep you guys safe.”  
  
“We’re plenty safe. Unlike you, if you’re thinking about walking out on my brother.” She might have lived with Gladys, but she was FP’s daughter through and through, and just as scary. Archie went back to bed.  
  
The auto shop had tin walls and for a long time in the dark all he could do was imagine how easily a bullet would punch through the metal. Then he shivered, realized how cold he was. Climbed into bed and waited, just a second, for Jughead to roll over and wrap his arm across Archie’s chest.  
  
In the morning, Fred and FP pulled up in Fred’s ancient pickup truck and Archie breathed a sigh of relief because it was someone else’s turn to be scared. He let them decide what would happen next while Jughead traced circles on the inside of his palm. And when they told him-that he was going up north to cross the border and Jug was going home, he didn’t know whether that was right or wrong, good or bad. He just knew that he was tired.  
  
He thanked FP. He hugged Gladys. Jellybean crossed her arms and smirked at him.  
  
“Come back sometime. If you ever need a home-cooked meal. You know where we are,” Gladys said, and he nodded.  
  
“I’ll buy you a milkshake. When you get home,” Jughead said.  
  
“Take care of Betty. Don’t let her do anything...” Archie looked for a word better than stupid, because Betty wasn’t stupid.  
  
“You wouldn’t do?” Jughead smiled.  
  
“Yeah.” He wanted to kiss him, badly, but he was suddenly embarrassed by the weight of all their eyes on him. When Jughead wrapped a hand around the back of his head and pulled him in, though, he couldn’t find it in himself to resist.  
  
And then Fred drove him over the border while he slept with his head against the window.  
  
For a long time, he was alone.  
  
Then, on a Wednesday morning, at 8:37 AM, Archie died.  
  
Four days later he walked back into his house with Vegas at his heels, sat down at the kitchen table. Looked his dad in the eyes for as long as he could manage (eleven seconds) and back down, at the mug of coffee in his hands. Sipped it.  
  
That night he slept so deep he didn’t dream. When he woke up, his head ached.  
  
The first thing he did was find Jughead. The second thing he did was wind his fingers into Jughead’s hair and kiss him. The third thing he did was pull away and notice that his chest ached. Not his scars. More like his lungs.  
  
“You’re home,” he said, halfway to a grin.  
  
“Yeah,” said Archie.  
  
“What about Hiram?” Said Jughead, hand wrapped around Archie’s waist. “What about the Gargoyle King?”  
  
“I don’t know, Jug. I just got back. I want things to go, y’know. Back to normal.”  
  
“Good luck finding normal in Riverdale,” Jughead said, and laughed. Archie didn’t say anything. The ache in his chest deepened just a little.  
  
Principal Weatherbee had some concerns. He was right, Archie thought. But the idea of staying back a year exhausted him. Betty and Jug disappearing to somewhere else and leaving him here. In Riverdale High. Playing football and going to dances.  
  
“The SAT is this Saturday,” he said, and the words were so meaningless to Archie. It took most of what he had not to laugh.  
  
So he thanked Weatherbee and wandered out of his office. Turned down the main hallway. Shouldered the door open and walked home.  
  
Jughead and Betty came by to help him study. They brought practice tests, flash cards. Archie let them quiz him for an hour. Another.  
  
Jughead left first, then Betty, and he was alone again.  
  
He didn’t show up to take the SAT. He slept, Saturday morning and late into the afternoon. Fred woke him up with French toast and no questions. Vegas licked the syrup off his hand under the table.  
  
Betty called the second they gave her her phone back. She told Archie in a guidance-counselor voice that she knew he had been through a lot, but. He told her she sounded like her mother, and she hung up.  
  
Jughead didn’t bother with calling. He just showed up and found Archie on his porch steps. He sat down beside him and waited for a long minute.  
  
Eventually, he settled on an offer: “milkshake?”  
  
Archie couldn’t argue.  
  
They sat in their regular booth. Archie ordered a plate of French fries, and Jughead talked about the test. How it was pointless, how it was propaganda, how American schools don’t care if you learn. Archie listened, nodded, chewed slowly.  
  
“Smart of you not to show up,” Jughead said finally. “Don’t give the fascists what they want.”  
  
“I would have failed it anyway,” Archie said. He wished Jughead would protest, so they could fight about it, but he didn’t.  
  
“Tests don’t matter. Just write some killer essay. You’ve got overcoming adversity down to a science.”  
  
“Yeah. I dunno.” Archie finished his last fry. Stood up. Walked to the register.  
  
He waited for Jughead to follow him, but he didn’t.  
  
He didn’t go to school on Monday, or Tuesday. Betty knocked on his door Tuesday afternoon and Fred told her Archie was sleeping. She came back on Wednesday and used the key under the mat, slipped upstairs before anybody noticed. She was halfway through opening the curtains when Archie walked in.  
  
“Betty.” Not surprised. Not angry.  
  
“We’re worried about you, Arch.” She abandoned the curtains.  
  
“Why are you worried? I’m fine.”  
  
“You haven’t been coming to school,” Betty said.  
  
“Yeah, well. I don’t think I’m going back.”  
  
Betty took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly. “You can’t just drop out, Arch.”  
  
What Archie wanted to say was _watch me._ “I talked about it with my dad. I can take the rest of the year off. Figure it out from there.”  
  
“And not graduate with us?” Betty said.  
  
“It’s just graduation. There are more important things.”  
  
“Like what?” Betty said, then quickly corrected herself. “I’m sorry. Archie. I know it’s been hard. I wish I could fix it. I just-here.“ She handed him a sheet of paper. He glanced at it. Names, phone numbers, insurance information.  
  
“Thanks.” It came out terse and angry, and she left without saying goodbye.  
  
Jughead called later that night.  
  
“Are you really done with school?” He asked.  
  
“Why do you sound so surprised, Jug?”  
  
“Do you want me to come over?” His voice dropped as soft as he could make it.  
  
“No. I mean.” He hunted for a better answer. Didn’t find it. “See you later.” Hung up.  
  
He saw them, at Pop’s, out walking. They even came over once or twice. He let them steer the conversation towards small things. Reggie and Veronica were having a party. Alice liked her newscaster job. Cheryl was running for prom queen.  
  
Mostly, the words glanced off him. Mostly, they all pretended he was listening. Still, he loved them for trying.  
  
Six weeks passed and results came in the mail. Betty fell ten points short of perfect, and Jughead’s scores were only slightly worse. Archie congratulated them over text.  
  
Hermione took Veronica back up to New York for the summer. Betty and Polly left on a three-month college tour. Archie woke up at six every morning and worked as many hours as his dad would let him.  
  
Jughead invited him to a Serpent bonfire one night in June. He went, against his better judgement.  
  
He didn’t plan to stay a long time. Just long enough to see Jughead. To say hi. To prove he wasn’t avoiding anything. He talked to Toni for a while. She had graduated, a month earlier, and was planning a trip to Detroit, to see her mom. She seemed so happy about it. She looked like a cartoon character.  
  
Before he could go, Jughead caught him by the wrist and tugged him behind one of the trailers and kissed him, which Archie wasn’t expecting. Jughead was drunk and the smell of it wafted off his clothes in the heat. He was leaning hard on Archie, one hand on his waist, one looking for purchase on the RV behind him. It had been a while.  
  
“Good party,” Jughead said.  
  
“It’s alright,” said Archie, and smiled against his will.  
  
“Whatever. You don’t know anything about parties.” Jughead laughed and tried to rearrange his arms. His left hand found the ridges on Archie’s chest. “You skip everything.”  
  
“Sorry?” Archie said, wincing. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”  
  
“Are you coming back to school?” asked Jughead.  
  
“Probably not.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
The question surprised Archie. “I don’t know. I’ve got stuff. Work.”  
  
“What about New York?” It took him a second to remember what he was talking about.  
  
“Come on, Jug. That was sophomore year.” Jughead looked at the dust near Archie’s feet. “It’s not-“  
  
“I get it,” said Jughead, and he pushed away from the trailer and walked back toward the fire.  
  
The rest of summer muddled together in a dry heat. When it ended, Fred told Archie over dinner that he wasn’t in the practice of employing adults without diplomas, so Archie started a few classes online. Called a few of the numbers on the sheet Betty had given him.  
  
Letters started coming for Betty. Thick ones, sometimes two or three a day. He waved at her through the window, and she held them up. Ann Arbor, Pittsburgh, Boston, Los Angeles. She would smile, and he would smile back.  
  
Sometimes he heard her and Alice fighting. That was when it was really bad, when he could hear them from his house. He couldn’t really make out the words, just their cadence. Alice couldn’t do anything about the letters, though.  
  
It had been a few weeks, maybe a few months, since he had heard from Jughead. So when Jughead texted him, finally, and asked him to come over, he went.  
  
He had a letter, too, a thick one, postmarked in Vermont and laid out across his lap.  
  
“Congratulations,” Archie said by way of greeting.  
  
“Thanks. I think.” Jughead quirked an eyebrow.  
  
“Seriously, man.”  
  
Jughead’s eyes fell to the envelope and his face softened.  
  
“It’s an art school. So everybody there will probably be insufferable. So I’ll probably never make any money.” But there was a glint in his eye. The promise of somewhere else was eating him alive. Archie could tell.  
  
“Yeah, well. When you write your novel.”  
  
“Name a character after you?” He smirked.  
  
“I was gonna say send me a copy.”  
  
“I don’t have to go.” Jughead looked Archie right in the eyes. It felt like the first time in forever. “Or-you could come, too. We could get an apartment near campus. I just want-“  
  
“Of course you have to go.” It almost came out angry, the way Archie said it. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Somebody’s gotta stay here and keep Riverdale from burning down. And I don’t think it’s gonna be you. You do have a history with matches, Jug. We’re probably safer if you move away.”  
  
It was a lame attempt at a joke, but Jughead laughed anyway.  
  
“You’re always gonna be bored here. Now that everything’s over.” Archie said.  
  
“And you’re not?”  
  
“Not right now. Maybe eventually.”  
  
“Well, call me. When it finally happens.”  
  
“I think I’ll call you before that,” Archie said, and grinned. “When do you leave?”  
  
It got easier quickly after that. He went out with them, more than once, enough that they all stopped counting. He went to their graduation, him and his dad.  
  
“I cannot believe they make the girls wear yellow,” Veronica said angrily, and Betty rolled her eyes.  
  
“You have black hair. You don’t get to complain about this.” All four of them were back in their booth at Pop’s, and it didn’t even feel weird anymore. Even though their mortarboards were piled, yellow-blue-yellow, on the table. Even though Betty was leaving tomorrow to start summer classes, and Veronica was leaving a week after. They had their milkshakes. They didn’t talk about anything in particular. It felt like the best thing in the world.  
  
June became July. Archie got his GED. Fred grilled burgers in the backyard and dropped one for Vegas. Jughead made Archie watch a dozen-odd movies about angry people in poorly-lit rooms.  
  
July became August. Archie carried bags of concrete around all day. Mary drove in from Chicago for a weekend and told Archie a long, embarrassing story about law school. Jughead started putting everything he owned, not a whole lot, into cardboard boxes.  
  
Once in a while, Archie thought about asking him to stay. He would. Archie knew he would. If he called Betty and asked her to come home, she would, too. Even Veronica, probably, would fly home from New York with a box of cupcakes under her arm if he played his cards right.  
  
But he didn’t.  
  
Instead, when August had almost cooled to September, he drove over to Jughead’s and carried his boxes to the back of FP’s truck. Jug followed him, both arms wrapped round a typewriter, which he placed gingerly in the passenger seat.  
  
“How long’s the drive?” Fred asked from the porch.  
  
“Not too bad. Four, five hours if I don’t stop.”  
  
Archie could see it then, him driving home in late November, the last red leaves still sticking to the trees.  
  
Fred gave a sympathetic nod and popped the top off his beer on the porch railing. FP laughed.  
  
“Do you have a roommate?” Archie asked.  
  
“Apparently. He’s from Texas. Wish me luck.” Jug said, and reached into the back seat to rearrange something. “Or,” he said, with his back still to Archie, “come up and meet him sometime.”  
  
“I could,” Archie said. “If you don’t kill each other.”  
  
“Come on, Arch. Have a little faith.” Jughead grinned.  
  
“Is there anything else inside?” Archie asked, and Jughead glanced back toward the trailer, and towards Fred and FP on the porch.  
  
“Let me go check,” Jughead said, and Archie followed him. There weren’t any boxes, and Archie couldn’t even tell what was  different about the place. Jughead lived out of a backpack even when he didn’t need to.  
  
“Look,” Jughead said, crossing his arms and leaning back on the linoleum counter. “Listen. Are things here gonna be alright? Without me or Betty to keep the wheels turning?”  
  
“I think I can keep the wheels turning. I’m still here.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s the problem. You’re here and everyone else is there.”  
  
“I like it here. It’s Riverdale,” Archie said.  
  
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Jughead said.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Jug.”  
  
“You’re making some assumptions, Andrews,” he said, but he was smiling again. Archie saw the smile and closed the distance between them without thinking what he would do when it was gone.  
  
Jughead had no such reservations. He leaned forward, stretched up, kissed Archie with a hand around the back of his neck. And Archie knew, as much as he knew anything, that things would turn out okay.  
  
From the doorway, FP cleared his throat. It was all Archie could do not to snap into salute, but FP laughed, and so did Fred, leaning against the doorframe. “You’d probably better get on the road, Jug,” he said. “Before it gets dark.”

“Yeah,” Jughead said, and it came out like a sputter, which made Fred and FP laugh harder.  
  
Outside, Fred shook his hand and said, “give ‘em hell,” and FP hugged him and said “Just because you’re the smartest guy at that school doesn’t mean don’t study,” and Jughead rolled his eyes and climbed into the driver’s seat.  
  
The window was open, and he put his arm on the sill and leaned out.  
  
“Does it feel real yet?” Archie asked.  
  
“Not even close,” Jughead said.  
  
He flipped the stereo on. The truck left a plume of smoke behind it as he pulled away.  
  
Archie watched the shrinking shape, watched Fred and FP, gave up and watched the horizon. It wasn’t quite sunset, and the sky was just fading to orange. None of them said anything as it cooled blue.  
  
Then, in the dark, Archie drove home.

**Author's Note:**

> lol sometimes Gladys makes you realize jarchie was viable all along and sometimes you make archie eat your own college-related trauma for Online Clicks and Likes. big thanks to louis for editing. follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nightmareeyess) for more riverdale #content. title from i wanna get better by bleachers. so you KNOW im depressed.


End file.
